Making Moments
by alohamora080
Summary: In which the two most famous, photographically documented moments of James Sirius Potter are made. Because, after all, one mustn't merely take a photograph—they must make it.
1. 04 June 2009

04 June 2009

"Harry, James, dears, come in, come in…" Molly's concerned voice floated about the Burrow's fireplace, as she hurriedly ushered her son-in-law and grandson into the threshold, bestowing the latter a beaming smile, whilst picking him up and engulfing him in a warm hug. "Would you like a cup of tea, Harry? Some cookies? I just made some—"

"No, Molly, I think I'd better be off." Harry smiled ruefully. "Don't want to leave Ginny alone too long with the kids. She's in a right state as it is."

"Albus and Lily are still terribly sick, then?" Molly inquired anxiously, swinging James back onto to the ground, much to his delight.

"Well, they're both running high temperatures," Harry sighed wearily, running a hand through his untidy black hair before sauntering back towards the fireplace. "We're taking them to St. Mungo's today to make sure it isn't anything serious. I heard from Neville that both of Susan and Ernie's children have come down with dragon pox."

"Yes, best be off to St. Mungo's then," Molly nodded, following Harry back towards the fireplace, an increasingly impatient James still clutching her hand.

"Thanks for taking this little devil in for the night," Harry nodded towards James, scooping up a handful of floo powder from flowerpot on the kitchen mantelpiece. "Merlin knows the last thing we need right now is another sick kid in the house. Andromeda flooed in this morning to let us know that Teddy's feeling under the weather, as well." Harry shook his head tiredly, turning to his son. "James, be good—and don't break anything, all right?"

James, however, wasn't paying even the smallest ounce of attention to his father, but, instead, was gazing fixedly out the Burrow's glass back door, towards the small pond in the center, with a sort of maniacal interest.

Molly chuckled softly. "I'm sure he won't be any trouble, Harry, sweetheart. You take care, now."

And with a blaze of green, Harry vanished into the fireplace. Molly stared at the spot at which he had just vanished for a fleeting moment, lips pursed worriedly, before she turned to her grandson, beaming.

"What would you like to do today, James?" she asked, ruffling the boy's unruly black hair, as she strolled towards the kitchen, securing the knot of her apron more firmly at her back. James tottered after her into the kitchen, gaze still lingering in the direction of the Burrow's back door.

"Nana, can we swim in that pond?"

"Pond?" she inquired distractedly, frowning around at her kitchen supplies, before approaching the various cupboards, tugging them open, one after the other.

"That pond, Nana," James said again, flinging a finger out towards the back door.

"Hm?" Molly looked up from behind a cupboard, squinting in the direction of James's outstretched finger. "What about the pond?"

"Can I go swimming in it?" James asked excitedly.

Molly laughed fondly, turning back to the cupboard. Brows furrowing, she began rummaging through it diligently. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Jamie. The pond's not very clean, see."

There was a pause as James contemplated this, brows furrowing and chin plopping down to his palms. He turned towards the back door once again, ogling wistfully out towards the muddy bond. As he watched, a toad leaped up from the water, and onto the nearby rock.

James's eyes widened in surprise, and he jumped out of his seat, darted over to the door, and pressed his face up against the glass. "Nana! Nana—Nana, did you see that?"

"What in the world has happened to all of those cookies I baked?" Molly mumbled under her breath, grimacing at the contents of a cupboard before slamming it shut and wrenching open the one next to it. Releasing sigh of frustration, Molly slammed the other cupboard closed, as well, brushing her hair out of her face. Straightening her shoulders, she looked around for her grandson, who was still standing with his face leveled against the door. "What is it, Jamie?"

"There's a toad in the pond!" James shrieked, clapping his hands together with glee.

And before Molly could as much as comprehend what he had said, James had flung the backyard door open and set off towards the pond, paying no heed to the vast quantities of mud from the damp, overgrown grass which flew up towards him from under each step he took.

Molly stared in shock, mouth slightly agape, as James scurried off, closer and closer to the pond. In an instant, James had ricocheted onto a visibly slippery rock, steadying himself only slightly before leaning dangerously over the water. And, then, Molly was off as well, ambling towards James, yelling for him to get down.

"James!" Molly panted, her voice unusually shrill. "James—no! James, get down this instant!"

But James did not defer to his grandmother's orders. Instead, he bounded up three more rocks, towards the large toad settled stoutly on the fourth.

"James!" Molly shouted desperately. "James—James, stop right there! Don't go any further!"

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to both Molly and James, Arthur Weasley had exited the nearby broom shed, a nearly empty jar of cookies tucked under his left arm, and the battered, old camera which he had just been tweaking with, tucked under his right. Popping a cookie into his mouth, Arthur lifted the camera up to his eyes, focusing it distractedly.

Molly ran helplessly out towards the rocks surrounding her pond, haphazardly ascending the first one. Reaching an arm out in vain towards her grandson, she called once more, "James, that's enough! Stop!"

James screwed up his eyes with immense concentration as he bent towards the fat toad, fingers a mere centimeter away. Mud was smeared and splattered all over his face, and, yet, he was grinning widely, clearly delighted with himself.

Then, several things seemed to happen at once. Arthur Weasley pressed down on the circular button, smiling with satisfaction as the camera's shutter snapped with a resounding _click_. The toad surged suddenly back into the pond. And James staggered and stumbled backwards in bewilderment, managing fall precisely into his grandmother's waiting arms.

* * *

Hello my lovelies! Welcome to a quick little side-project I'm working on, a three-shot I'm writing for Morning Lilies's "Photo Album" Comp. Only two of the three chapters are for the actual competition, though. And this is one of them.

So, the point of this competition. Well, Morning Lilies gave me a brief description of a photograph, and I had to elaborate to make a story. Here is the description I was given:

"James crouches beside the pond in the Burrow's back garden, splattered in mud and grinning toothily as he attempts to grab a fat toad sitting fearlessly on a rock not far away."

The next chapter will be centered around another photograph description (and will be posted very soon, I think). And the third chapter will merely sum up the story. Enjoy!

Yours sincerely,  
Alohamora


	2. 24 April 2014

24 April 2014

The soft breeze blew pleasantly at their smiling faces, whipping their hair lightly around. Their mild laughter, coupled with the chatter of their children, mingled with otherwise silent atmosphere, as there wasn't another soul in sight.

The Potters and Weasleys had decided to take a vacation.

It wasn't often, they'd decided, that both Ron and Harry simultaneously got a two-week's respite from their busy life at the Auror's department, so, naturally, they'd had resolved, almost at once, to take a small holiday—just to themselves—at a small, almost isolated little beach house nearby Cape Cornwall.

At the moment, they were all simmering down at the beach, lying lazily across the various blankets they'd stretched out upon the sandy terrain. Legs were tossed haphazardly across laps, arms resting on shoulders, and their sandals lay, forgotten, some feet away.

For once, they were all calm, completely alleviated of the stress that usually followed them everywhere. They all only glanced up only occasionally, to make sure that their children, who were gamboling happily at the neighboring play structure, weren't causing too much mayhem, as they were known to. But, even that, only for a moment. For, immediately afterwards, they went straight back to relaxing. It was really quite evident, just how much they'd all needed this break.

The children, however, were exhibiting various different indications of boredom. After all, how could five children, all under the age of ten, entertain themselves at the beach, after spending five days doing nothing but that? They'd swam, they'd laughed, they'd talked, they'd frolicked. And numerous times, too. It was because of their growing disinterest in the sunny oceanfront environment that they had begged their parents for permission to visit the small, beach-based playground, located just a few yards away from where the adults habitually set up camp, on the coastline.

Upon reaching the playground, they'd all instantaneously discovered ways of amusing themselves. Rose veered cheerfully in her swing, her red her flying behind her. Albus was settled placidly in the swing next to hers, green eyes drooping slightly with fatigue as he leaned against the hand he had coiled around the mettle chain of the swing. Lily and Hugo, meanwhile, were feverishly attempting to build a sandcastle. However, they had, rather unwisely on their part, decided to construct it just meters away from the sea. It was much to their disappointment—and their siblings' exasperation—that their castle kept getting washed away by the waves.

Only James was sitting inattentively on the sand, arms crossed. Because he was, at the moment, the eldest of his present cousins, he was feeling very important, indeed. Swings and sandcastles were far too childish for his refined taste.

Sighing, he slipped a finger into his trouser's pocket, wistfully fingering the Wildfire Whiz-bangs hidden within. Oh, how he wished he could light them. He chanced a glance towards his parents, and was unsurprised to find that his mother was surveying him vigilantly. Only she knew of the wondrous articles concealed in his pocket; and she had drilled into his head, quite clearly, the terrible consequences of lighting them on the beach. If only there was a loophole…

James's face lit up, as, suddenly, an idea occurred to him. Adjacent to the balmy shoreline, there was a small, sparse thicket, with a multitude of trees, each the perfect size for a nine-year-old boy to climb onto and camouflage in. And, in the end, his mother had only deterred him from lighting his fireworks on the beach.

As if on cue, James glanced up to find that his mother was strolling towards them, clutching their family camera.

"Just taking some snaps for Nana and Grandad," she nodded towards Rose, who had raised her eyebrows questioningly.

James suddenly realized this to be the perfect opportunity. With his mother preoccupied with taking photographs, she would never notice his absence.

"Mum, I'm just going to the restroom—I'll be back in a bit!" James called flippantly to his mother, who waved his excuse away from behind the large camera in her hands.

"Fine, but leave your shoes here," she ordered, raising the camera to her eyes and pressing down on the shutter-release catch. "No point wearing your trainers into the beach's restroom. You'll just make a mess of them. Borrow your father's sandals if you'd like…" she tarried off, focusing the camera on Lily and Hugo's monstrosity of a sandcastle.

James made a face, groaning inwardly as he grudgingly kicked his trainers off, and onto the sand. Genuinely, he didn't have the patience to walk all the way back up the beach, towards his father and collect the latter's sandals. But, he couldn't deny it was going to a be a painful experience, sauntering about the thicket with no footwear on.

Nevertheless, half-a-minute later found James Sirius Potter settled quite comfortably on a tree branch, quite some ways away from the open seashore, a generous handful of Wildfire Whiz-bangs in one hand and a Muggle lighter—one, which he had nicked from his grandfather's shed, many years ago—in the other. With a wide smirk on his face, James squinted intently at the lighter, flicking the clasp down, and smiling with satisfaction as the familiar flame appeared. He briefly touched the flare to the tip of the fireworks before tossing the latter into the air. And, there was a loud, roaring sound as the fireworks soared up into the sky, steadily gathering velocity, an array of multicolored sparks forming in its core.

Ginevra Potter lowered her camera slightly, gazing confusedly up at the cool, evening sky. Instantly, she heard the bizarre, reverberating noises from above. She shielded her face, half-expecting a torrent of rain to cascade down upon them.

But then, there was a deafening BOOM, and, suddenly, several incandescent rockets, each with long tails of silver stars, crackled and erupted around the various clouds. Ginny's teeth gritted, eyes flashing with anger._  
_

She gripped at the camera in her hands with such force that shutter snapped. Yet, the accidental photograph seemed to epitomize the moment effortlessly: Rose, swinging high, and staring up at the sky in bewilderment, red tresses fluttering behind her. Hugo and Lily curiously studying the sparks of silver which had landed upon their sand castle. Albus, watching the others with a bemused smile on his face, arm still curled securely around his swing's chain. And, in the midst of it all, a pair of trainers sat conspicuously by the swing set.

For the owner was perched upon a crooked tree branch, cackling madly up at the colorful sky.

* * *

Here's the second chapter!

This photograph's description is:

"Rose swings high in the park, red hair flying. Hugo and Lily build a sand castle of sorts behind her. Albus watches with one arm coiled around the chain of his swing. James is conspicuously absent, although his sneakers lay in the grass a few feet away."

Hope you all liked this!

Yours sincerely,  
Alohamora


	3. 14 May 2029

14 May 2029

"Funny, I always thought Albus would be the first of you two to get married," Harry Potter chuckled, leaning against the door frame of his elder son's bedroom.

James glanced up from fiddling with his tie, grinning at his father. "I see you have absolutely no faith in me, eh, Dad?" James countered laughingly, tugging his tie lose for a fleeting moment before pulling it tightly, standing back, and surveying his reflection in the mirror.

"It's not a question of faith." Harry strode into the room, clapping his son's shoulder fondly, and staring into the mirror, as well. A vague smile was playing at his lips. "It's more of—well, I never thought my troublesome son—who went out of his way to cause trouble all the way up until he was eighteen—would ever settle down."

James was silent for a moment, staring down at his shoes and biting his lip. Then, he looked up, grinning widely. "Well, I'm not done yet, Dad. If my sons and daughters don't go to Hogwarts with the Marauder's Map and every single Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes product ever made in their trunks, then I'll be damned."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, I've got no problem with that. It's your mother you want to worry about. Forty-seven years old, and still capable of bringing the house down with her Bat-Bogey-Hex, mate. And I'm pretty sure Alice won't be too thrilled with your plans either. Certainly not since you dumped a bucket of mud on her for a prank, back in your sixth year."

They stared at each other. "We both chose the most savage of women, didn't we?" Harry inquired nervously.

James nodded, eyes wide.

"Just wait until she's pregnant." Harry chortled. "You'll never have a peaceful moment, I assure you."

They strolled down Potter Manor's swerving staircase in a comfortable silence, both sporting heads of identically untidy black hair—which stuck spectacularly up at the back, seeing as neither had bothered, in the least, to attend to it—and faint smiles. Towards the front door, they traipsed, but just as James's hand was a centimeter away from the brass doorknob, Harry stopped him.

"Hang on—I have something for you," Harry told him, rummaging through his pockets.

James looked up curiously. "What is it?"

"Just a little pre-wedding gift." Harry beamed. From the depths of his cloak he pulled out a sizable, silver box. On its surface, someone had engraved a small message in a small, choppy text.

_To: James_, it read. _Just so that you never forget what an little demon you used to be. Love, Dad._

"I'm a bit scared, now," James laughed nervously, tentatively nudging the silver box open with his fingers.

He gasped. It wasn't a box, after all. It was a photo frame—two photo frames, actually, affixed together by an elegant, sterling swathe. In the right frame, a four-year-old was crouching beside the mossy pond in the Burrow's back garden, leaning dangerously over the green water. Splattered from head-to-toe in mire, he was grinning toothily, reaching out towards the fat toad, which was sitting fearlessly on the nearby rock.

James flicked his gaze to the left frame. There was Rose, swinging happily in her swing, red hair swooping behind her, gazing up at the sky in bewilderment. And Hugo and Lily, scooping handfuls of sand onto their sand castle, both curiously examining at the sparks of silver, which had settled onto their construction from the sky, just moments earlier. And Albus, bemusedly watching the others, with one arm coiled comfortably around the chain of his swing.

Only _he_ wasn't there, but, suddenly, James could spot, quite clearly, his buffeted old trainers, lying in the grass by Albus's feet.

A rush memories flooded into his brain, leaving James feeling quite disoriented for a moment, as he stared down at the photograph, watching his four-year-old self's fingers reach out desperately towards the toad.

A lump caught in his throat, as he glanced back up at his father, who was surveying him with a hopeful expression on his face.

"Thanks, Dad," James choked out, and he hoped his father knew just how much he meant it. "For everything."

"Anytime, Jamie." Harry flung an arm around his son's shoulders. "Come along, then, let's not delay this wedding any longer. Your mum will have my head…"

James Potter and Alice Longbottom were married an hour later. And, after a short honeymoon in Milan, the pair moved into a small, warm cottage-style house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. James immediately placed his father's gift on the mantelpiece, where it remained until his dying day.


End file.
